Fall and Consequences
by pyrojaniac
Summary: AU post OotP: When Ginny trips over Mrs Norris on her way to the common room and accidentally kisses Draco Malfoy, Colin Creevey captures the scene beautifully. The next morning, Ginny finds her brother with a copy of the photo... DracoGinny


**Summary: When Ginny trips over Mrs Norris on her way to the common room and accidentally kisses Draco Malfoy, Colin Creevey captures the scene beautifully. The next morning, Ginny finds her brother with a copy of the photo. Coincidentally, it's the same one that appears on the common room's bulletin board and the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. Within a matter of hours, not only the whole school, but all of wizarding Britain thinks she's fraternising with the enemy. What's a girl to do? **

**A/N # 1: Many thanks to SerpentClara (a PI-accredited beta reader) for editing and to The Savant for challenging me to write a fic that would turn him onto D/G. **

**Disclaimer**** Harry Potter belongs to J.K.R. and various other rich people. I don't own it. If I did, things would be a little different. D This fic borrows and heartily takes advantage of Dawn Lionheart's plot bunny, which can be found in its original and unabused form here: http// forums. fictionalley. org/ park/ showthread. php? s &threadid 102945 **

XXX

**FALL AND CONSEQUENCES **

It had all started with a Slytherin.

As a matter of fact, most problems in Hogwarts started with a Slytherin. Ginny had learned this undeniable fact of life firsthand during her first year of higher education (well, higher than what she had been getting at home, at any rate).

It wasn't all Tom Riddle's fault, either. A summer in Egypt spent basking in the warm African sun had helped her push the horrors of her first year into a corner of her mind that she liked to pretend wasn't there. She was ready to start anew. She was even willing to give Slytherins another chance. _After all_, she told herself, _you can't judge a group based on the actions of one individual_. Ginny was extremely forward-thinking for a Gryffindor.

The only problem was that Draco Malfoy wouldn't let her put the past behind her. He was there every day like clockwork, teasing, taunting, insulting. He called her Weaslette and always found something wrong with her, something about her even she hadn't noticed.

Within weeks, he had taught her to hate her freckles, her telltale red hair, her hand-me-down clothes. Within months, he had taught her to _think_. She had stopped taking his insults lying down and had started talking back, mocking him like he mocked her.

Now, three years later, it was a daily ritual: see Malfoy, scowl at Malfoy, say something nasty to Malfoy, go have breakfast. In that respect, at least, it had begun as an ordinary day.

"Weaslette," Malfoy acknowledged from her right as Ginny was hurrying to the Great Hall. Startled, she spun around. It wasn't that she was surprised to see him, but rather that not for the first time, she got the feeling that he had been waiting there for her.

"Malfoy," she replied, eyeing him warily. Then, she voiced what she was thinking. "Are you stalking me?"

His mouth curled up in a familiar sneer. "Don't flatter yourself, Weaslette. I simply wanted to wish you a happy Christmas, one classmate to another."

_What? _

Ginny took a minute to digest the information.

It didn't help.

"What?"

"I also wanted to offer you my invaluable help with your project."

"Come again?" she requested weakly.

"Well, I was doing a bit of light reading last night, and I found a spell used to enchant the booths in brothels to persuade reluctant occupants that a kiss or two won't hurt. I was thinking you could use it on mistletoe to nail Potter. No one will suspect a thing since it's Christmas, and I promise I won't tell a soul."

Ginny wondered if she should sigh in relief or laugh because he had managed to catch her off-guard. After a minute's thought, she opted for a different approach.

"The sentiment's appreciated, Malfoy, but I'd much rather concentrate on how to spend my favourite day of the year in the presence of people whose company I actually enjoy. I realise that's a foreign concept for you, knowing who your regular entourage consists of, but some of us have friends we actually _like_. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go have breakfast before I lose my appetite altogether." She made a show of turning on her heel and storming off.

"It's a quite simple charm, really," he called after her, chuckling, "I'm sure even you could do it, if you used that pretty little head of yours for once."

Christmas at Hogwarts had always been a rather uneventful day. Most of the school's occupants were home visiting relatives, getting ready for dinner with their loved ones, and the handful of students left in each house were too busy lazing around to cause any trouble. Generally, the only problematic part of Christmas at Hogwarts was the dinner.

Christmas dinner at the castle had been an elaborate event since Helga Hufflepuff had decided that Godric and Salazar were only being crabby because they were spending Christmas in a castle that was big enough to hide a Quidditch field on each floor. Ginny's fifth year was no different.

Every type of food imaginable lined the wooden table that sat those who had remained in the castle. Clearly, the Hogwarts house-elves were not in league with any sort of dieting program. Multicoloured orbs lit up the Great Hall in the hues of red and green characteristic of the holiday, and the large Christmas tree stood off to the side, basking in its own glory.

The good food, however, was not the problem. The eggnog was. The house-elves had started a tradition of slipping a good bit more alcohol into the concoction than was healthy for young children. The results were often interesting.

_It looks rather like Slytherin and Gryffindor have mated,_ Ginny couldn't help noticing as she got up from the table. The warm lethargy one is overcome by after eating a large and satiating meal washed down by something laced with alcohol had affected her more than ever because she had been so thirsty. But none of it mattered enough to hold her focus. She just wanted to get to her soft, inviting four-poster bed, to climb under the covers and sleep.

She really wanted to blame house-elves and the food for what happened next.

Walking down the winding hallways of Hogwarts at the not-quite-late hour of eight in the evening, Ginny got a sudden urge to yawn. She narrowed her eyes and brought her hand up to cover her mouth like she had been taught, and stepped on something soft and squishy and unquestionably alive. That last fact had been confirmed when the thing gave an ear-splitting yowl and darted away, leaving the redhead in shock and off balance.

It had been established by the matrons of the Weasley family long ago that these two things were never a good combination.

Ginny flailed her arms as she tottered dangerously, the cold stone floor coming closer one second, farther the next. She was almost sure this was a battle against nature that she would lose when someone stupidly stepped into her path. A tall, blond, pale, grey-eyed someone whom she had never been happier to see, because arsehole or not, Draco Malfoy would make one hell of a good landing cushion.

She waited for a second until he got into position and then gave in to gravity. _Excellent_, she thought as he hit the floor with a loud thump,_ I was right. _

"What the hell?" he yelped when he realised who was sprawled across his stomach. "What are you doing, Weasley? Get off me!" Since she didn't seem to be moving fast enough for his taste, he propped himself up on his elbows, his upper body rising several inches, just as she pressed her palms into the floor and moved forward a bit, and for a few paralysing seconds, their lips met.

The thing that no one liked to talk about when it came to Malfoy, Ginny reflected as she became aware that he tasted suspiciously of chocolate, was that he was really not at all bad looking. In fact, if one chose to ignore the small matter of his horrid personality, he was actually quite a catch, with lean muscles toned by years of Quidditch, the aristocratic features of his face, and the heart-stopping smile that Ginny was sure few were privy to.

And now, Ginny was lying on top of him, thinking about it, while becoming increasingly aware of the fact that he was also a good kisser.

It was then that the full impact of what had happened hit her. She, Ginevra Molly Weasley, was sprawled on top of Draco Malfoy in the middle of a Hogwarts hallway while was kissing her, and she had not made one move to permanently injure him for it. Between the angry swear words and the hysterical laughter that echoed through her head, she heard someone cough loudly.

Then, that someone proceeded to clear his (or her--she wasn't quite sure which at this point) throat again. Time, which had seemed to slow down for the few seconds in which Ginny had contemplated Draco Malfoy's finer qualities, returned to normal, and she leapt off of him as though he was on fire. Rolling his eyes, Malfoy got up slowly and coolly brushed imaginary specks of dirt off his robes. "Merlin, you're graceful," he drawled.

"Be as it may, Mr Malfoy," declared the voice that belonged to the cougher, "I'm afraid Miss Weasley's gift is not one for which she should be thankful." Ginny's heart plummeted into her toes. She didn't have to look to know who the voice belonged to. "Twenty points from Gryffindor, Miss Weasley," he continued. "Hogwarts does not tolerate such blatant public displays of affection."

_Keep your mouth shut and you will get through this alive. It could have been much worse. You don't want it to be worse. _Despite the good reasons that her brain was throwing at her, Ginny opened her mouth defiantly. "But Professor Snape, it wasn't my fault. I tripped over Mrs Norris, and there was rum in the eggnog—" she began to protest.

The Potions Master's mouth curled up in a sneer, his dark eyes glittering. "You will also serve detention tomorrow morning as punishment for making up stories." He turned, and for a moment, Ginny was sure he'd walk away. He didn't. "Mr Malfoy, you will be joining your girlfriend. Perhaps this will persuade you to do these sorts of things in your room or at least behind the staircase, or maybe it will encourage you to teach her how to lie convincingly. Either way, it is sure to be an educational experience for you both. My office, tomorrow, nine o'clock." With those words, he turned and swept away, his robes billowing behind him like the wings of an overgrown bat.

Ginny looked up at Malfoy meekly, feeling like she ought to apologise. Red blotches had appeared on his pale cheeks, and his eyes were gleaming dangerously. "You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut, Weasley," he snarled before stalking off in the direction of the dungeons.

Sighing, Ginny began to make her way to Gryffindor tower. As she rubbed the bridge of her nose tiredly, she found herself wondering if she could still consider Christmas her favourite day of the year.

XXX

When Ginny Weasley had first picked up the odd-shaped device on that fateful day in her second year, she could have never imagined it would cause so much trouble.

She had been fully focused on one Harry Potter at the time. He had come after her into the chamber, fought a giant snake, and nearly got killed trying to save her. _Obviously,_ she had thought, _he loves me_. Now, she just had to make him realise it.

At first, she had taken her mother's advice and attacked poor Harry with silly poems and lopsided smiles. By the time her second year rolled around, she knew better. The only way to make Harry notice her was to become noticeable. Pigtails and shy smiles and second-hand dresses were not noticeable; long, flowing hair and brazen grins and expensive things were.

Confidence, she knew, was attractive. Luckily, Ginny had plenty of it. Now she just had to take special care to parade it around.

She had been a rather misguided twelve-year-old, Ginny had decided upon later reflection, but she supposed it was to be expected, what with her being a young, impressionable girl growing up with six older brothers and all.

In any case, she had enlisted Colin Creevey's assistance in the matter, and between the scheming and plotting, the two had become fast friends. He had even offered to teach her how to use a camera when she had come across it one afternoon. To twelve-year-old Ginny, it had seemed no more extraordinary than a slightly cumbersome, but overall useless, contraption, and so she had politely refused. It took her another three years to realise just how wrong she had been.

In fact, the exact day that she began regretting not dropping Colin's camera to the floor when she had the chance was 26 December 1996, the day after the fall.

XXX

You know those days when nothing seems to go your way from the very moment you wake up, and you just know that the next twenty-four hours will be awful?

Well, Draco Malfoy would be having such a day if he had gone to sleep in the first place.

It had started the night before with an event as unlikely as any: kissing Ginny Weasley. After Professor Snape had informed him that he would be serving detention with the Gryffindor wench, Draco had had a silent hissy fit and stormed off into his room, fully intending to swallow a bottle of mouthwash and then _Obliviate_ himself. He'd actually gotten as far as unscrewing the cap when his hands stilled, and he realised that he didn't particularly want to forget kissing the girl he had ever-so-affectionately christened "Weaslette".

That had been the beginning of a night full of tossing and turning and wishing for sleep that refused to grace him with its presence. _Malfoys,_ thought Draco decidedly, _are not supposed entertain such thoughts about Weasleys, no matter how attractive they are. _

With that in mind, Draco, having finally given up on trying to get some rest, got out of bed at five in the morning, grabbed his broom, and flew around the Quidditch pitch for the next hour, trying to rid his head of thoughts that would get his name burned off the family tree. At first, he was sure he had succeeded. Between the wind rushing past him and the sting of the cold against his face, he quickly received the natural high he'd been looking for, and all thoughts of Ginny Weasley left his head.

Then, he made the mistake of letting his feet brush the ground.

Just like that, she was back, and now, no amount of flying could get rid of her. It was seven when he finally stopped trying and went back to his room to take a shower before breakfast.

Afterwards, he slowly made his way to the Great Hall, deciding not to wait for Weasley. For all he knew, she could very well take it the wrong way in light of what had happened the night before.

As he entered the Hall, he became increasingly aware of the stares he was getting from Hogwarts's early risers. Chalking it up to the fact that they probably hadn't expected to see him up and about at such an ungodly hour, Draco took his customary seat at the Slytherin table and proceeded to make himself a cup of coffee.

"Ah," he murmured as the light brown liquid slid down his throat, and the caffeinated vanilla assaulted his taste buds. It made getting up early worth his while.

Draco was well on his way to dramatically improving his mood when a post owl dropped a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ into his porridge. Rolling his eyes, Draco reached for the newspaper, wondering what sort of rubbish had been immortalised in print this time. When his gaze landed on the front page, he froze, what he imagined to be an expression of deep horror instilled upon his face.

There, on the cover of the most widely read newspaper in wizarding Britain, was an animated depiction of him kissing Ginny Weasley. Between marvelling at how good he looked and how good _she_ looked, too, he took the time to briefly wonder if it was irrational to hope his father had cancelled his subscription in a fit of good sense. Once he'd decided that yes, that was too much to hope for, Draco pondered why in the world the _Prophet_ would bother to print something that had a better place in _Witch Weekly_. That was when he noticed the postcard that had come with the paper.

_'Are you tired of seeing news of death and destruction on the front page of your newspaper every morning?' _it exclaimed._ 'Would you prefer not to be reminded of the war before you're even properly awake? Then sign up for the _Daily Prophet's_ "screen" option. Your front page will become an excerpt from the _Prophet's_ Life in This United Kingdom section, and the actual front page will follow, to be perused at your convenience. No longer will disastrous news be forced down your throat.' _

While Draco was skimming the advertisement, the Malfoys' usually composed eagle owl, Amadeus, flew in through an open window, looking harried and angry.

The bird landed on Draco's shoulder, taking special care to get a good grip on it with his talons, and began to preen. A roll of heavy parchment held closed with the Malfoy family seal was tied to his leg. Draco cleared his throat, giving Amadeus a pointed look. The owl fixed him with an unblinking stare, but held out the leg in question and waited patiently for Draco to retrieve the letter. Then, just as Draco was beginning to unfurl it, Amadeus took a bite out of his ear.

Yelping, Draco instinctively ducked his head and swatted him away. Amadeus gave an indignant hoot and flapped his wings in an annoyed manner for several minutes. Then, stealing a piece of toast off Draco's plate, he finally took flight.

Rolling his eyes at the unreasonable bird, Draco picked up the roll of parchment he'd dropped when he was attacked and pulled it open. He frowned as he scanned it, the line between his brows becoming deeper with every word.

_Draco-- _

_I saw today's Prophet. While I commend you for managing to make front page news, I must say that the way in which you did it does not particularly thrill me. This brings me to a question: are you out of your mind? If I am told that my son's picture is in the news, I want to see you holding Potter's head on a silver platter, not kissing the youngest of the Weasley brood. Haven't I always told you that such matters are to be kept private? _

_This sort of thing is best done behind closed doors. Hell, even behind a staircase will suffice. And your choice in women? Absolutely despicable. What were you thinking? Surely Hogwarts has more to offer than that. _

_She may be exceptionally pretty, Draco, but don't forget where she comes from. If you must, bed her and move on. Just be careful--Weasleys breed like rabbits; Merlin forbid you get her pregnant. _

_Either way, end it before any more damage is done to our family name. If you do not, I will no longer be able to call you my son._

It was signed simply "Lucius Malfoy". He hadn't bothered with anything as trivial as "yours sincerely" or "love" or even "your father".

Draco quickly resolved not to think about the letter. Instead, he thought about Quidditch and exams (which were still a long way off) and coffee, but didn't let his thoughts wander in any particularly dangerous direction. Then, his eyes landed on the _Prophet_ again and he wondered how Weasley's day was going and whether she would be getting an angry note too. This inadvertently led him back to the letter. His father sounded downright pissed off. Maybe if he could pay someone to take a picture of Potter's face when he saw his copy of the morning paper and send that home, he could alleviate some of that anger.

Draco grinned gleefully at the prospect. After he had finished cackling in his head, he set about bringing chaos to Hogwarts.

XXX

Ginny Weasley woke up at seven o'clock on the morning of 26 December with a splitting headache. At first, she was slightly confused about where exactly the headache originated from. Then, she remembered the eggnog. The thought of how much of it she had to have consumed in order to feel like this made her nauseous. This, in turn, prompted a trip to the bathroom where she proceeded to neatly lose the remains of the scrumptious dinner she ate the night before.

After rinsing her mouth, Ginny returned to her bed, still feeling slightly woozy, and went back to sleep.

An hour later, after forty minutes of sleep and twenty minutes of staring aimlessly at the ceiling (the dorm was empty, and she wondered if the apocalypse was coming--her roommates generally didn't deem it necessary to get up before ten during the holidays), she finally worked up the resolve to get out of bed.

Ginny showered and dressed and, grabbing an unfinished essay she intended to complete before breakfast, went down to the common room.

There, she quickly discovered the answer to her earlier ponderings: Jenna, Elsie, Casey and Serena, along with rest of Gryffindor house, were crowded around the common room bulletin board, talking excitedly about something. Her brother, Ron, was standing off to the side, pale as a sheet. His freckles stood out starkly against his flour-like complexion and he stared straight ahead while Hermione patted his back soothingly. Harry stood next to them, imitating Hermione's worried expression and chewing anxiously on his bottom lip.

Ginny walked over to them. "G'Morning," she called lightly once she got within earshot. "Everything all right?"

Ron looked up and fixed her with an unreadable glare.

Ginny frowned at the montage of emotions flickering over his face. "What, did Quidditch get canceled, or something?" Still no reply. Ginny was just beginning to get really angry when Hermione hesitantly placed her hand on Ginny's arm.

"Ginny, are you--is there something you want to talk about?"

"Uh...no, not really." Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Why? Why?" Ron, who seemed to have finally found his voice, nearly screamed, "Because you've gone out of your mind, that's why!" In a matter of seconds, he had gone from deathly pale to save-me-I'm-chocking red.

"What are you on about this time?" asked Ginny, mentally running through a list of the things she'd done recently.

Ron stared at her in disbelief. "What d'you mean—what am I talking about?" he spluttered angrily once he'd rediscovered his ability to speak.

"I mean—what are you talking about?" Ginny replied, raising her voice slightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the crowd around the bulletin board turn to look at them curiously.

"You know, Ron," Harry murmured, placing an arm on his friend's shoulder, "maybe it's best to approach this calmly. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation—"

"Perfectly reasonable?" Ron yelped, outraged. "How can there be anything reasonable about this?" He pushed something colourful into Ginny's face and waved it about.

Ginny squinted, trying to see what it was.

"This is Malfoy we're talking about, Ron. He could have put her under a spell or something."

Ron's eyes widened. "You're right," he said, grasping at Harry's statement like a drowning man at a life preserver. "He's right," he declared to Ginny. "Malfoy must've—" But before he could finish making himself feel better, a voice in the crowd interrupted.

"I dunno, Ron. I hate to say it, but a picture's worth a thousand words, and in the picture, it looks rather like your sister is enjoying herself."

Ginny froze as the pieces fell into place. Colin's smug voice, a picture that made Ron livid, her roommates out of bed early…

Ron didn't have the same problem. He lunged at Colin, swearing and swinging his arms, and it took both Harry and Hermione to hold him back.

"Ron, just calm down—" Harry managed.

"Calm down?" Ron spluttered, distracted for the moment. "Malfoy's got Ginny under some sort of spell, and Creevey thinks it's funny. Let go of me—I'll kill him!"

Dodging the flying spittle, Ginny snatched the photograph out of his hand. _Ah. That explains it,_ a little voice in her head declared grimly, for the little rectangular piece of paper depicted a photo of her passionately kissing Draco Malfoy. _Colin must've fixed it,_ she thought, because she certainly couldn't have enjoyed the kiss as much as the girl in the picture.

"I'm going to kill you," she told Colin, taking a step towards him.

He didn't flinch, like she'd hoped he would. Instead, he put his hands into the air, palms turned to her. "Ginny, listen, you're my best friend and I want you to be happy. You can't be happy living a lie. You and Malfoy are in love, and you deserve to be together without worrying about how to conceal your feelings for each other. All this sneaking around is going to get to you, and it will mess up your relationship. I don't want that to happen."

It was Ginny's turn to stare in disbelief. "What the hell are you playing at, Colin?"

"What you two are doing is very brave; it takes courage to overcome hatred dating back to the Dark Ages, but you two have done it. You shouldn't have to hide it."

Ginny couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. "Cute, Colin. Well done. You can drop the charade now."

"It's no charade, Ginny, you know that as well as I. It's no use trying to play it off as a joke. Everyone knows the truth now."

Ginny stared at his face, trying to look for a hint of what he might be thinking, but found nothing. It was clear that as long as there were other people around, he'd be keeping this up. This problem, at least, she knew how to solve. "Colin, I need to talk to you, in private."

Something flashed in his eyes but it was gone too fast for her to tell what it was. "I don't see what there is to talk about, Ginny."

"Oh you misunderstand me, friend. It's not optional." Ginny closed the distance between them and grabbed his ear like she'd seen her mother do to her brothers on multiple occasions. "Let's go."

"Ow, ow, ow," Colin yelped, forcing his feet to move.

Once they were outside the common room, Ginny let go and spun around to face him. "Well?" she demanded.

Colin opened his mouth.

"And don't you dare play dumb, Creevey," Ginny warned before he could start. "What the hell is going on?"

"It's not that big a deal, Ginny. I'm just having a bit of fun."

"A bit of fun? You nearly gave my brother a coronary."

Colin shrugged.

Ginny opened her mouth, ready to tear into him again, then had a better idea. She took a deep breath and once she felt she'd calmed down, she said, "Colin, this isn't like you. What's going on? Do you have a bet going or something?"

He sighed. "No, there's no bet."

"Then what is it? I thought you were my friend."

"I am your friend, Ginny. That's why I'm doing this."

She blinked. "That is, without a doubt, the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Look, Gin, just let it play out, all right? I promise you won't regret it."

"I'm already regretting it."

"Come on, please?"

"Colin—" she began.

"Just humour me. Besides, you owe me from the -" he waved his arms theatrically, "- thing with the thing."

"What thing with the thing?" she asked, frowning.

Colin looked thoughtful for a moment, and then snapped his fingers brightly. "The pictures you're bribing Parvati with."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Fine."

"Great," Colin exclaimed, rubbing his hands together, "now that that's settled, let's go get some breakfast."

"All right, but let's go to the kitchens. I really don't feel like being stared at right now."

"Sounds good."

"Hmm. How long do you plan on keeping this up, anyway?" she asked as they set off in the direction of the dungeons.

"As long as it takes."

"As long as it takes for what?"

"You'll see," Colin said gleefully.

XXX

Draco was just letting the last vestiges of his coffee drip into his mouth when the rest of Slytherin House slowly filtered into the Great Hall. Some of his classmates looked at him in disbelief, some with respect, some with sympathy and some with loathing. They all had one thing in common, though; their staring was beginning to irritate him.

"What?" he snapped as Blaise sat down next to him, patting him on the back.

"I just wanted you to know, mate, that I truly respect what you did. Knowing the way your father would react, it must have taken you a lot of courage to do it."

"Yeah, Draco," Vincent added, "I never would have been able to stand up to my father like that."

"You know, you practically betrayed everything your family stands for," Gregory declared.

_What?_ said the little voice in Draco's head.

"What?" said Draco.

"Well, I wouldn't say that, Greg," Blaise amended hurriedly. "After all, the Malfoys are known for always getting what they want. Draco has had his eye on the youngest Weasley since second year, and now, he's got her. He's doing a spectacular job of upholding his family name."

Before Draco could come up with a suitable reply, something connected with his face. Hard. Hard enough, in fact, to nearly dislocate his jaw. "Ow," he groaned, working his mouth to get it back to a healthier state. "What the fuck is your problem, Daphne?"

Pansy, who'd taken a seat nearby, snickered. Draco ignored her in favour of his seething ex-girlfriend.

"How dare you?" shrieked the girl in question. "You bastard! You told me you loved me. I _believed_ you. And then you do _this_." She waved a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in his face emphatically. "With _her_!"

"Um…" managed Draco, still unsure of why Daphne was so angry. After all, they'd split up months ago.

"It says here that you two have been together for the better part of a year," she spat, thrusting the paper into his face. "I'm not an idiot, and I know how to count. You were running around with her when we were still seeing each other." The palm of her hand connected with his other cheek and Draco saw stars again.

He shook his head until his vision cleared and turned back to explain to Daphne that it was all a mistake and that he had never been with Ginny Weasley when he saw the reason Daphne had made the assumption; there was an article accompanying the picture.

The headline, which took up half the page (how his father had missed it Draco couldn't fathom), proudly proclaimed, _Star-Crossed Lovers Challenge Tradition_. The author was Rita Skeeter.

XXX

Ginny was only partially right to think what she did about the incident. It hadn't all started with a Slytherin. There _had_ been a Gryffindor involved. And besides, the Slytherin she'd think of in the future, when she remembered the mess, hadn't started it. No, the credit for that went to one of his classmates; a sixth-year by the name of Blaise Zabini.

On 31 October 1996, Blaise Zabini entered a popular pub in Hogsmeade known as The Hog's Head and proceeded to get drunk. An hour and a three glasses of Firewhiskey later, he noticed the Gryffindor in the next booth doing the same thing. The Gryffindor was a year his junior. His name was Colin Creevey. The conversation the ensued went something like this:

"Hey, I know you!" Blaise exclaimed loudly. He got up and wobbled over to the next booth. "You're—" he paused, fishing for a name.

"Colin Creevey."

"Right, right, the bloke with the camera. You're always taking pictures of one thing or another. I dunno why. If you ask me, you can't beat the real thing."

"The real thing tends to talk too much," Colin muttered, more to himself than to the Slytherin sitting next to him.

"Point," said Blaise, who'd heard him, raising the glass he was holding to his mouth. "So what's your story?"

"My story?"

"Why are you here?" Blaise elaborated.

"Do I need a reason?"

"Yeah."

"What if I don't have one?"

"Make it up. I'm bored."

"D'you know Ginny?"

"Ginny? Ginny Weasley? Sure I know Ginny." Blaise thought for a minute. "Nice arse, nice set of tits, nice legs. Kinda nice all around, actually," he slurred. "You're friends, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Colin muttered, wondering if punching Blaise Zabini in the face for his previous comment was the thing a friend should do.

"What, are you in love with her or something?"

"Nah. She jus' drives me crazy sometimes."

"Yeah?"

"You know Malfoy?"

"Sure."

"Well I can some up his better qualities the way you've just summed up Ginny's."

"Huh."

"And I'm not gay."

Blaise stared at Colin for a full minute before replying. "Yeah, I'm kind of drunk, so you're going to have to make sense of that one for me."

Colin, glad to be able to vent to someone, quickly explained. "Ginny won't shut up about him. It's Malfoy did this or Malfoy said that, twenty-four-seven."

"Hey, that's funny. Draco doesn't shut up about her either. I'm getting kind of sick of it, actually." He paused. "Hey, you don't think—"

Colin, realising what the sixth year was hinting at even in his drunken state, quickly shook his head. "No. Uh-uh. Absolutely not. That would be a really bad idea."

"Yeah," Blaise agreed, his dark eyes glinting. "It would be a terrible idea." And very slowly, the corners of his mouth turned up into a grin.

XXX

Although the whole mess had started with a Slytherin, it wasn't long before Blaise Zabini found himself another partner in crime:

"Please tell me you're joking, Blaise."

"I resent that, Pansy; I'm perfectly serious."

"Didn't you say you were drunk when you came up with this?"

"Yes." Blaise blinked. "So?"

"So what makes you think that it was a sound idea?"

"It wasn't. I thought about it later and decided that clarity does indeed visit the intoxicated mind."

The girl in question gave a frustrated sigh and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "You're going to do this with or without my help, aren't you?"

"Yes," Blaise told her solemnly. "I just need to convince Crevis to help. He's our inside man, you know."

"Creevey," Pansy corrected automatically.

Blaise stared at her. "How'd you know that?"

"What?"

"His name. How'd you know it was Creevey?"

Pansy waved her arm in a dismissive manner. "I've worked with him in the past."

"_Really_?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "You're not getting another word out of me, Zabini."

"But—"

"I've agreed to help despite the small problem of Draco killing me if he ever finds out that I had a hand in this business. Don't push it."

XXX

"I do wish you'd tell me what's going on, Colin."

They had finally reached the portrait hiding the castle's kitchens. Ginny reached over and tickled the pear.

"Sorry, Ginny, but I can't."

"Why no—" Ginny started as the portrait swung open. She couldn't complete the sentence, though, because just on the other side was the one person she'd seen entirely too much of in the last two days. "Malfoy?"

"Weaslette?" he countered, the disbelief evident in his voice.

Colin gave her a hard push, sending her stumbling through the door. "D'you know, I just remembered that I promised Dennis I'd meet him before breakfast. Best be off. I'll see you later, Gin." Ginny turned to look at him and he flashed her a bright smile before the portrait swung shut in her face.

"What're you doing here?" the kitchen's other occupant asked pointedly.

"Looking for food, Malfoy, I thought that'd be obvious," Ginny huffed, spinning around. "Clearly you aren't as clever as you think you are."

"What's wrong with the Great Hall?" Draco asked carefully, wondering if she had seen the _Prophet_ yet.

Ginny, who was currently wondering something similar concerning the photograph she'd seen in the common room, answered just as carefully, "Too noisy."

"Then it's a wonder that you can stand going home over the holidays, with the size of your family and all," he sneered.

"At least I don't have to worry about hearing my Death Eater father torturing Muggles in the dungeons."

"The dungeons are soundproof," Draco sniffed imperiously, "although I wouldn't expect you to know anything about that. Such things are clearly above your class."

"Unbelievable," Ginny muttered, waving her hand at a house-elf, who hurriedly obliged her with a plate of breakfast food. "You don't even bother to deny it."

"Deny what? That my father's a Death Eater? Don't be ridiculous; it's common knowledge that all Gryffindors are so set in their ways that it's no use trying to convince them of anything."

Ginny opened her mouth to reply, then thought back to her brother's face in the common room that morning and changed her mind. Draco smirked. She rolled her eyes. "Why are you here, Malfoy? Isn't it enough that your entire house worships you? Do you need the house-elves to kiss your feet too?"

"It's not my fault I have such worthy qualities," Draco replied indignantly. "Blame genetics."

"Oh I do. Your parents are clearly just as arrogant and conceited as you are."

Draco remained silent for a minute, allowing Ginny to let her guard down and get started on her toast. Then, quite suddenly, he said, "I like my friends."

Ginny stopped salting her eggs. "What?"

"You said yesterday that you'd rather spend your Christmas with people whose company you enjoy and that I wouldn't know anything about that because of the people I hang around with. I wanted to set the record straight. I do like my friends." He gave her a thoughtful look. "Most of the time."

Ginny quirked an eyebrow. "Most of the time?"

"Yes."

"When don't you like them?"

"When they combine their forces to plot my downfall," Draco muttered darkly.

"What?" Ginny said for the umpteenth time that day.

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again. Then he proceeded to repeat the procedure three more times. As he was questioning the wisdom of revealing the sensitive information to Ginny, a house-elf appeared at his side.

"Master Draco, Dobby is sorry to interrupt," the house-elf cried, wringing his hands, "But Master Draco told Dobby that he has detention with Professor Snape at nine o'clock this morning and it is now five to."

Draco's eyes widened and he completely forgot about what he was going to say to Ginny. "It's a ten minute walk to Professor Snape's office," he whispered.

"Then I hope you can run fast," Ginny replied, shaking her head. She spared a glance around her to make sure there wasn't anything she'd brought down and forgotten, and then took off in the style of someone who had grown up with six siblings.

After picturing the consequences of invoking his professor's wrath, Draco quickly followed. He wasn't sure if being a Slytherin still earned you favour during the holidays. As far as he could tell from last night's fiasco, the answer was no and he wasn't willing to experiment with the matter any further.

The pair reached their destination a minute before the clock tower tolled nine. Ginny strolled right in while Draco took a few seconds to slow his breathing and regain his composure. He joined Ginny in front of Snape's desk a mere second early.

Snape, who was in the process of marking essays, barely spared them a glance. "There are thirty cauldrons in the Potions classroom next door. You are to clean them without magic. You have an hour; use your time wisely." He looked up at them with a sneer. "I daresay you'd better leave the snogging for another time, perhaps when you are at a worldwide press conference."

Wincing, Ginny followed Draco through the door that connected Snape's office to the classroom that was so familiar to them. Draco glared in her direction as he closed the door behind them.

Ginny glared right back.

"Don't look at me like that, Malfoy," she said, taking the cleaning supplies from the cupboard. "You know that using magic to clean cauldrons leaves residue that interferes with Potion-making. You're just going to have to get your perfect hands dirty this time."

"This is all your fault, Weasley," he snarled, taking the rag from her.

"Oh no, this is as much your fault as it is mine, Malfoy."

Draco inclined his head in question. "And how do you figure that?"

"Well, if you hadn't stepped into my path, I wouldn't have fallen on top of you, would I?" she asked sweetly.

"Maybe if you had been a bit more graceful—oh wait, that would require an upbringing your parents can't afford."

Ginny opened her mouth, a scathing reply on the tip of her mouth, but a little voice in the back of her head stopped her. _Be the bigger person,_ it seemed to be saying. Ginny was very familiar with this voice. It appeared every time she argued with Draco, but she'd never paid much attention to it before. Maybe it was time to start.

"It's time to use that brain of yours and think up something more original, Malfoy. That one's getting old."

Draco scowled at her.

Ginny ignored his unwelcoming facial expression in favour of something that had bothering her for a few minutes. "What did Snape mean in there, about the press conference?" she asked, effectively bringing the conversation to where it had been cut off in the kitchens.

Deciding to stop dancing around the topic, Draco gave her an honest answer: "Surely you've seen the picture, Weasley."

_Well,_ Ginny thought grimly, _that answers my question about how far it has spread. _"Yeah," she replied, eyeing him warily, "I've seen the pictures."

"Pictures, plural? Was there more to that article, then?"

Ginny frowned at him. "What article?"

"The one in the _Prophet_—" he trailed off. "You haven't seen the _Prophet_ today, have you? But then…if you haven't seen the paper, what pictures are you talking about?"

"The ones on the common room bulletin board," Ginny said slowly. "But that wasn't the real extent of it, was it? He's been a lot more thorough than I thought." She swallowed hard, thinking about the expression that would be gracing her parents' faces as they got their morning newspaper. "I'll kill him. My parents will kill me first, of course, but then I will come back and kill him," she whispered.

"Kill who?" Draco asked.

"Colin."

"Colin Creevey? What does he have to do with anything?"

"I have it on good authority that Colin took those pictures."

"No, he couldn't have," Draco said briskly. "Blaise is behind the whole thing."

"Does Zabini know the first thing about cameras?" Ginny asked.

Draco stared at her for a minute until realisation dawned. "Oh no," he said quietly. "No. Absolutely not. He could _not_ have roped a Gryffindor into this."

Ginny, who for her part, had been answering questions mechanically and without considering the full implication of her answers, was jolted back to the conversation. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Surely Colin couldn't have teamed up with a Slytherin."

"Slytherins," Draco corrected, sounding as horrified as she felt. "Blaise has half the house involved."

"Why would they do this? They're supposed to be our friends."

"Who cares what misguided idea drove it? It's done. The question now is how do we fix it?"

Ginny thought for a minute. "The article—how bad was it?"

"It was written by Rita Skeeter," Draco said by way of a reply.

"We're so screwed," Ginny groaned, "No matter how much bullshit that woman writes, people always believe her."

"Tells you a little something about the intelligence of the human race, doesn't it?"

"But how do we make everybody believe that the article isn't true?"

"It'll be difficult—after all, she quoted students from every house."

Ginny gazed at him while she considered possible solutions. His eyes were darker than she was used to, and the shuttered expression that she hadn't seen for years had appeared on his face. _Look, Gin, just let it play out,_ said Colin's voice in her head. It was crazy, true, but it might just work. Now if only she could get a certain Slytherin to warm up to the idea…

Ginny licked her lips nervously. "Wouldn't it be easier," she began, "to just let it play out?"

"What do you mean?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Well…what if we pretended to date for a couple of weeks and then had a really public break-up. Wouldn't that solve everything?"

"Are you out of your mind, Weasley?" Draco hissed. "My father's about to disown me as it is!"

"I'm sure he wouldn't really—" she started.

"Oh yeah? Read this," he snarled, thrusting the letter he'd received this morning into her face.

"You could spin this your way," she told him as she scanned it over. "Just tell him that the _Prophet_ exaggerated its facts slightly. Say that you just started going out with me because I don't sleep with boys unless I date them for a couple of weeks first, and you heard that I'm a great shag."

"Is that true?" he asked curiously.

"Malfoy! Stay on topic!" He rolled his eyes.

"I still don't like it."

"As much as it pains me to admit it, Malfoy, you're clever, so you can think of something," she retorted angrily.

"All right. I think we should pretend to date for a couple of weeks and then have a public break-up. That'll solve everything," he said with a straight face.

"Malfoy! That's exactly what _I_ said!" Ginny spluttered.

"No, it sounded loads better coming out of my mouth."

Ginny gave an exasperated sigh. "You know, when you think about it, it'll be harder for me," she said wistfully. "My brother just about had a coronary this morning. And that's only one out of six. Harry and Hermione think I'm under the Imperius. And while you can calm your parents with a letter, mine will probably run to Dumbledore thinking that I've come across another Dark object."

"Still want to do this, Weaslette?"

"It's going to have to be Ginny from now on."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Hmm…well, as bad a kisser as you are, I don't really have a choice, do I?" she told him impishly.

Draco's eyes widened. "Stop your blasphemy, woman! _I_ am an _excellent_ kisser."

"That's not what I heard," she continued, grinning devilishly.

"Wench!" he exclaimed, grabbing her arm, "I'll show you to listen to rumours spread by angry ex-girlfriends."

XXX

"Ron, maybe you should—"

"Maybe I should what, Hermione? Leave her be? How can I do that? She's my little sister and somehow, Malfoy's gotten his hands on her. I can't just sit by and watch her get hurt."

"But she's a big girl, Ron," Hermione protested as they walked into the Great Hall.

"She's still my little sister and—" Ron stopped talking suddenly, coming to a full stop just past the double doors.

"Ron?" Hermione asked worriedly from behind them. "Harry?"

Neither boy answered.

"Guys?"

The result was the same.

Getting impatient, Hermione pushed past them to see what they were gawking at. As her gaze landed on the Slytherin table, her eyes widened.

Ginny Weasley was sitting on Draco Malfoy's lap.

_Fin_

**A/N #2: Well, there it is. A completed D/G fic. A completed D/G one-shot. Clearly the apocalypse must be coming for me to do such a thing. **

**Please review, and let me know what you think.**

**_/I have never let my schooling interfere with my education./_** _-Mark Twain_


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